This trail. Oh God this trail. This trail was like a Charles Dickens novel: one of the greatest masterpieces of all time that a bunch of people didn’t get to appreciate because they were too busy being lazy in a warm bar waiting for the movie to come out. Before I go any further, I feel as though I should actually tell you fuckers what trail actually was.

This trail had city blocks for the week-kneed, waist-deep snow for the snowbunnies, playgrounds and baseball fields for you single MILFs, parking lots and industrial buildings for you city folk, woods for you rednecks, shiggy for you “hashers”, and gardens for you koom-by-ya motherfuckers. There were three beer checks, a spiked hot cider check, and a check where the siena college womens volleyball team was giving blowjobs. True story. Have I made my point that this was the best trail ever?

So here’s what actually happened:

Dirtbag showed up at Dirtback o’clock, he asked for a beer with “flavor” in it, so I order him a Coors light and then garnished it with some of the wonder cheese from under my nuts. Some other people showed up. I recognized jizz hands’ Ragnar sweater. And then Superflaggot and I left to go get some on-trail BJs from the backline spiking couch. So I don’t know what happened at the bar. Moans probably poked an eye out with her cold nips, and people probably asked Archie if they ran out of sunscreen in Antarctica, or if he had ever banged a penguin.

At some point on trail, two separate groups started zenning. Neither of them was anywhere near trail. They were near the Brewery. Which isn’t even on the map I provided for this hash trash. They kept stopping to see if the other group was on something. They were. They were on each other like two drunk cows trying to fuck a doorknob. Then Piggy Rambo-rolled down a snowback to the brewery to be the first person to the beer. He was. It just wasn’t our beer. And he was alone. Like a dumbass. That’s what happens when you zen. Then he bought himself beer at EBI like a homeless person and drank it on the way back to the bar. So that was his trail. Good for him.

A couple of people showed up at beer check, after what should have been a very simple trail consisting of one right turn. At that point I had a voicemail from Archie that went as follows. “Little Wang Theory you fucker. It’s called hashing not leave us lost in the fucking woods!”. WHAT WOODS?? There were no woods anywhere near trail before beer check. Archie was so lost he found himself in a topographical feature that is nowhere near the region of trail that was set. *sigh* what an absent-minded cutie-pie.

Anyway, various people ran various versions of not-trail, while superflaggot and I were lying in wait at the exit of Yaddo, waitin for you guys to go in so we could lay the rest of the trail back to the bar. As far as I’m concerned, y’all are still on trail.

So after resigning ourselves to the fact that you lazy fuckers had given up on trail, we told took our dongs out of the siena college womens volleyball team, zipped up, and laid trail back to the bar, where you guys were already schmoozing with the regulars.

Then came circle with the following awards:

FRB: Little Wang Theory and Superflaggot

DAL: entire pack

Hashit: entire pack

Hares drank. Other people drank. The presence of civilians at the bar dwindled from few to fewer to just a judgemental bartender, a judgemental owner, and occasionally a judgemental Hymen. ManNipYouLayHer got drunk and was in circle so often that she pulled a “Chief SuxOnDik” and just popped a squat indian style and never left the middle of circle. Then she got drunker and took her virgin’s wang out. It was all downhill from there. Then piggy lost control of circle like he lost control of his own internal compass, and then we swung low and got the fuck out of there. Ugh. Hashers.

HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED TWO TRAILS AGO.

Boxer took a dump in some other team’s vehicle. Somebody laid a shitty trail. Assman pushed a hasher but they didn’t break themselves. Piggy zenned and ended up in Canada. Dirtbag flirted with a fat barmaid who took him upstairs for a ride. His face is a little narrower due to her thunder thighs. Moans went to a titty bar and won for best nipples. Hymen and Jizzney lived happily ever after (true story). Ass to stache took a lighter to his bum and singed his asshair. Mount my hams quit his job as a defender of our country and started a travelling butcher shop in the back of an unmarked white van.

So that’s all for this week. Have a good normal life, and remember: if Little Wang Theory said it, it happened. I’m like a regular Brian Williams up in here. Also I have a nine-foot dong and am hung like a tree.